A reader writes: When I found out that no more could be done for my beautiful dad, I realized how lucky I was that I had no bridges to build with my father. When I needed him he was always there: always letting me know he loved me, guiding but not controlling me, watching but never judging me, holding but never smothering me—not necessarily agreeing with me but always listening, always hearing me. The bridge was always there. I realized that the knowledge of his illness gave us the most precious gift and I embraced it with all my heart: TIME!! Time to say our goodbyes, time to thank him for being my dad, time to let him know he will live on in every breath I take, time to let him know it was ok—that he wasn`t deserting us or abandoning us. Time to look straight into his beautiful blue eyes and let him know he got it right. When he died, I felt as if at 50 years of age I’d suddenly turned into a ten- year old little girl who needed her daddy. Read on here >>>
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Thank you for sharing this. My father died awhile ago and in his honor I wrote a children's book, "Bo John's Train," about his life and the impact he had on the lives around him.
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